Painting Pretty Pictures
by SkittlesAreAwesome
Summary: 'She's obsessed with the razor, engulfed by the pain...' Rated for self-harm and character death suicide . Very sad. Please do not read if this could be triggering for you or if you do not like the themes.


__A/N - Okay I know I've not written anything for ages but I've been really busy! I'm sorry! This is a bit different to what I usually write, it's really sad and has character death and self harm in it, so please don't read if you don't like it or if this could be triggering for you. And also I don't know who that quote at the top is from so if you do then it'd be awesome if you told me! So, happy reading, and don't forget to review!

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Disclaimer: Notminenotminenotminenotmine (just the story okay)

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_she paints a pretty picture,_

_but this picture has a twist_

_you see, her paintbrush is her razor_

_and her canvas is her wrist_

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The top of the Astronomy Tower - away from her dorm mates, away from their eyes - she sits. She stares at the razor blade between her fingers, wondering how it got to this. She rolls up her robe's sleeve, and the blade glints in the moonlight as she brings it towards her exposed arm. She slices once, twice, three times, four. Her arm becomes a river of red, her once pale skin now marred with her own blood. She cuts again and again, opening new cuts and reopening the old. It's the only way she can cope.

No-one knows. No-one cares. She doesn't want anyone to find out; they'll try and get her to stop. It's not good for her, she knows. She'll stop when she can.

Shouting and screaming don't let the demons out. Crying doesn't help.

So she just tries to bleed out the pain inside of her.

It's the only way she knows she can still feel now. _Just so fucking numb._

She can't see the skin on that arm for the crimson liquid that now coats it - she rolls up her other sleeve, starts cutting again. She revels in the dull pain as she cuts; surprised that she can still feel **this** when she can feel little else.

She doesn't notice grey eyes watching her from the shadows. She doesn't see them, even though she's stared into them more times than she could count. He thought she'd stopped. He's the only one that knows. She doesn't realise he knows. She thinks she's hidden it well enough. He wants to stop her - he knows he can't. He doesn't understand why she does it. He has no choice but to leave her. He can't watch her hurt herself; he can't do anything - he turns and leaves.

She didn't even notice. She's obsessed with the razor, engulfed by the pain, fascinated as droplets of her blood drip down her arm and across her hand. Her 'pure' blood._ What's the difference? We all bleed the same in the end._

She can barely feel the shallow cuts now. She's desperate. She needs to cut deeper. Her razor is slick with blood. She doesn't care. She just needs to feel.

Usually she'd take out her wand and heal the cuts, just enough to stop the flow.

Now she's just given up.

The razor falls from her hand and hits the floor of the tower. All she can smell is the metallic tang of her blood. Her eyes slide closed. A small smile on her face as she thinks that this might all finally be over.

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They found her the next morning. Little Ginevra Weasley, lying dead on the floor of the Astronomy Tower. How had no-one noticed, they said. Why did no-one help her, they asked.

But Ginny Weasley didn't want anyone to notice, didn't want anyone to help, so no-one knew until the end.

All they found was a note; crumpled in her hand.

_**I'm so sorry**_

She cut to feel. Now she feels nothing.

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He saw her, the next day. He was the one that found her.

He was numb. The night before he didn't understand. Suddenly, he did.

He took the razor from next to her.

He went up to the tower the next night. All traces of Ginevra Weasley were gone. He'd known they would be. He'd hoped everything wouldn't have gone; he'd wanted to feel close to her one last time.

But he couldn't.

He supposed he'd see her soon enough.

He sat down where she'd sat.

He could have stopped her.

_She'd still be here. I wouldn't have found her._

He wouldn't have had to see her, covered in her self spilt blood.

_I'm so fucking selfish._

He wanted her here. He could have stopped her.

_I could have fucking stopped her._

_It's my fault._

He tortured himself with that thought, chanting it over and over again in his head.

_myfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfault._

He'd stopped this years ago. He didn't think he'd ever go back. But the razor traced designs on his wrist, coloured in with blood. Deeper deeper deeper. He reopened all his long healed scars.

He hardly feels anything. He can still feel the pain inside over the pain he's causing.

_It's just not enough._

He couldn't wait like she had. He stood. His pure blood drips down his arms. Dropped the razor.

He stood at the edge of the Astronomy Tower, a few steps away. His eyes slip closed. He smiles as he thinks that one step, and it will all be over. He thinks of her. He feels the rivets of blood. Droplets hit the stone floor. His eyelids flicker.

He tilts forward.

Whispers something. Years of that mouth twisted with insults and hatred, his trademark smirk. The last words his mouth would ever speak.

And no-one was able to hear him.

He steps forward. He won't scream, he promises himself. He won't make a sound.

_Just one more step._

He takes it.

And then he's flying.

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They found him the next day. Draco Malfoy. What had happened, they speculate. Why did he do it, they wondered.

The same reason as Ginny? Maybe. They'll never know. They'll never understand.

His body just completely broken, at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower.

But that wasn't the thing people noticed. It was his arms.

Through the blood coating his arms they could see the cuts he'd made the night before. Slashes and slices and then words.

Why her. Why us. Why her.

They found a note crumpled in his hand. It was on the same paper as her's had been, he'd used the same ink, tried to put the same slant into his writing. He wanted to be as close to her as possible in the end.

_Now we'll be together forever._

And then everyone understood.

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Draco Malfoy and Ginevra Weasley. They couldn't be together until the end.

And by the end, it was far too late.

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A/N - Okay.. Finished. Was it okay? If you liked it or if you didn't or if you have any ideas of how to make it better or for a new story, review!

SkittlesAreAwesome


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